


through the looking glass (and what jemma found there)

by biochemprincess



Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV)
Genre: Gen, Greek Mythology - Freeform, post - season 2 finale, speculation fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-29
Updated: 2015-05-29
Packaged: 2018-04-01 14:08:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,386
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4022746
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/biochemprincess/pseuds/biochemprincess
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Kree Stone transports Jemma into an unknown dimension, where she is trapped from now on. But she's not alone there. Meeting old and new friends, Jemma tries to find a way back home. (it's not as easy as it sounds.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	through the looking glass (and what jemma found there)

**Author's Note:**

> a/n: initially this was supposed to be a short story about jemma bringing back trip. (i like to lie to myself.) it has turned into a monster. the sections at the beginning and the end are part of the poem 'a boat beneath a sunny sky' by lewis carroll from his book 'through the looking glass'. (the sequel to 'alice in wonderland'.) it also functions as inspiration for the title.
> 
> as always, my biggest thanks go to sarah/imperfectlychaotic, who beta-ed the monster, even though she has to go through a sea of grammar mistakes. you're the real hero. :)

* * *

 

 _long has paled the sunny sky_  
_echoes fade and memories die_  
_autumn frosts have slain july_

 

* * *

 

 

Everything is too close too close too close, so close close close. It's suffocating her.

Her body is warm in some places, sun beams on her skin and cold as ice in others. Sharp edges cut tissue, release blood from her veins.

Then there's no touch, like her whole body is coated in paraffin wax.

She cannot breathe.

(water rushes into her lungs. there's only breath for one. but her right hand feels strangely empty. this is not right. it's a different memory. there is no water. there's only dust and debris.)

Jemma opens her eyes. Opens her eyes. Her eyes.

Light is burning in her retinas, bright and painful. Quicksilver - mercury - hydrargyrum - flows around her body, turning her into a gem, preserving like a fly in amber.

Her heart stops beating to the pulsing of the universe, a supernova imploding and exploding in her myocardium.

All is won. Everything. Nothing. All is lost.

And then it's dark once more.

 

*

*

*

 

Dreams of beasts and monsters fill her mind. Wolves and hyenas are fighting for dominance, howling at her like she is their moon, the only light in the darkness. Their colours change, from white to black, until they fade entirely from her vision.

Jemma thinks she should be afraid of them, but she isn't.

She thinks she should think more, but she can't.

(floating through the air, weightless, falling down down down - this is what terrifies her.)

She screams at the top of her lungs.

 

*

*

*

 

When she awakes, Jemma is lying on her back staring into white emptiness. Her limbs are stiff and she's shivering.

The sweet smell of spring fills her nose, the feeling of grass beneath her palms. Jemma turns her head a little to get a better angle at the scenery.

Flowers are tracing the shape of her body on the white ground. Roses, violets, lilies, daisies are growing all around her. It's almost beautiful.

She wants to stand up, but her head is spinning, dark spots dancing in her field of vision, so she opts for sitting for the time being. Everything feels fuzzy and sluggish.

"Hey, Simmons. You should take it easy." A familiar voice says close to her.

Jemma swings around, gaping at the man who just spoke.

Trip.

He is sitting on the ground next to her, cross - legged, a smile on his face. But it's not as bright as she remembers, it's sad and tired and a little broken.

She must be hallucinating, completely delusional. He cannot be real. But Trip is still wearing the same clothes like he did the day he died - mud grey shirt and jeans.

Jemma blinks, once twice thrice, and his smile grows wider every time. But Trip doesn't vanish. He stays exactly where he is.

"You're alive." She whispers full of disbelief. This is not real, only some kind of sick dream, whatever it is.

"That's a matter of opinion."

"Are we dead?"

He shakes his head. "Neither. It's not as easy as that."

Jemma exhales silently, getting her thoughts on track again. Baby steps and one at a time.

She looks around her, trying to find a sign of civilization. But there is nothing but a white, endless room. White is the only colour existing. It's everywhere, mocking her.

"Where are we?"

Trip cocks his head. "To be honest, I don't know. But I'm referring to it as Limbo."

Jemma closes her eyelids again, taking several deep breaths before attempting to talk again. She has words saved in some part of her brain.

"'For this defect, and for no other fault, we are lost, and we are only tormented, in that without hope we live in desire.'"

It's been a long time since she's read The Diving Comedy, back then when she'd still been at the Academy, and she had never really understood the big fuss about it. But Dante obviously never fails to have a good comparison ready.

"Knew you've read it. Fits quite right, doesn't it?"

"Not really. The first circle of hell is reserved for those who don't worship god, but are otherwise free of sin. I don't see any similarities. Unless the Inhumans have a certain god I've pissed off."

"You could probably compare it to the Asphodel Meadows as well." he says pensively.

She tries to remember everything she knows connected to the term. "We're nothing but shadows?"

Trip nods. "I think so, but I could be wrong. I've heard some interesting opinions on this." He points to the flowers, still blossoming around her, and plucks a daisy. "Though I haven't seen anybody do this."

"This?" She follows his gaze and softly touches the red petals of a rose. It feels real, like tissue paper. Tiny sparks of electricity flicker under her fingertips.

"Creation. Nothing ever exists here. It's an empty white wasteland, if you will."

Jemma is too afraid to ask, too afraid of what she might hear as an answer, but she proceeds anyway. "How do we go home?"

"We don't. We can't."

Well, she had to ask.

The pulsing pain in her hipbone and the back of her neck matches her heartbeat - rapid and out of control. All she can think of is what she was doing earlier, at home.

"It's just --- I had a date." Keeping her voice even is a difficult task. The happiness she felt only minutes before, the excitement, it's all extinguished.

It's a fast and deep fall on cold, hard ground. It hurts in ways physical measures can't explain , never will.

Trip stays silent, simply watches. If he has any questions, he doesn't let it on. Jemma pushes back her hurt, anger, confusion - whatever it is she's feeling right now - and concentrates on more urgent matters.

"You said you heard some theories. Are there others?"

"Yes. You'll see them soon. They are already near, but only start appearing once your organism accustoms to the change."

"What's the connection?"

"What?"

"There has to be some kind of link. Or is this just the waiting room for afterlife?"

A smiles tucks at the corners of Trip's mouth. "There is. All of us were exposed to the mist by those goddamn crystals. None of us made it."

"Wait, what? Really?"

"Yes. Except you. Care to explain how that happened?"

"There was a stone. It --- swallowed me."

Speaking the words out aloud is so unbelievable, Jemma can't even take it seriously. For once, things had been looking rosy again. For once none of her friends havd been in immediate danger. For once they all had been at the same page. For once she'd been happy.

And once again material from outer space has destroyed her plans. She'll need to have a serious talk with the universe soon, about boundaries and why her personal happiness seems to be such an impossible task.

Jemma informs him about everything that's currently happening in short, quick sentences, trying to pack the events of six months into less than a few minutes of speaking time.

"You wouldn't happen to carry some handy, intergalactic Howling Commandos gadget with you?" she asks with more than a hint of gallows humour in her voice.

"Cap didn't fight aliens back in the days. Sorry." Trip's grinning now and it makes her smile too, despite the desperate situation she's in.

"Are you going to give me a tour around?"

"You bet. Though sightseeing is not really in our cards." He gestures all around him, where there's nothing but --- nothing. It's depressing. "And I already know where to start. There's somebody you should meet."

 

*

*

*

 

Trip leads her through a small crowd of people, who are suddenly appearing from behind of clouds of mist. Some faces stare at her curiously, some are whispering. Others don't care about her at all. But all of them have a hollow look in their eyes, like have been here too long already.

They probably have.

Jemma follows him somewhat dazed.

Trip walks up to a teenage girl, with long ebony hair put into a braid and big amber eyes. She's sitting apart from the others, doodling on her arm with a ballpoint pen. They stop in front of her. The pen must be empty, Jemma concludes, as the girl's skin doesn't show any ink marks where she's just drawn.

Trip is the one to introduce them to each other. "Simmons, this is Clara Rodriguez. Clara, Agent Jemma Simmons."

The girl looks up to face them. Jemma imagines that she must radiate warmth, her smile does at any rate, just as her eyes do.

"Nice to meet you, Agent Simmons. I'm sorry you died."

Clara doesn't waste time, she announces the facts just like tearing off a band-aid. Jemma tries her best to keep her features unfazed, but it doesn't feel like she succeeds.

"Both of her parents are carrier of the gene variant." Trip clarifies and Jemma's eyes widen in surprise.

"They're Inhumans?"

"They are. My father could change his physical features to any human face he has ever seen. My mother's gift was invisibility."

"She could become invisible?" Jemma asks, intrigued by the girl's words. Clara laughs at her curiosity.

"Yeah, Mom would stand next to me one second and the other there was only air. She could even dissolve her entire body. You wouldn't be able to touch her, if she didn't want it."

_Incredible._

Something tickles at the back of her brain, an idea she'd have to explore later. But right now Jemma has to focus on Clara.

"What about you?"

Clara looks down and stares at her shoes, almost ashamed. "Usually it's pretty safe to use the crystals when both parents are inhuman. If you pass the psychological tests, they let you go through the Terrigenesis. But I obviously didn't inherit the right genetic code."

"Did you know you'd end up here? Is this known to the Inhumans?"

She can't even finish her sentence before the girl starts denying. "No, nobody knows about this. And if somebody does, they didn't tell us."

"What about a stone?"

Out of the sudden, an alarming expression clouds her eyes. "Oh, I know about the stone. It's deadly to us, that's what the tales are all about. I don't know why, but it was made by the Kree to correct their mistake. Us. It shouldn't harm humans." Clara grimaces. "It shouldn't have swallowed you."

_I know._

_I shouldn't be here._

"Were you and your parents living in Afterlife?"

Clara nods. "My parents went there when they were about my age. I was born there."

"When did this happen?"

"Time doesn't exist here, Agent Simmons."

"So I've heard." She glances at Trip, who only shrugs with his shoulders. "But what year do you remember coming from?"

Clara thinks about it for a short moment, before looking at Jemma again. Her brown eyes are wet with unshed tears. "2002. I died in 2002."

Jemma looks at the girl all over again, takes in all of her features. The young face with the too wise voice, the flashy clothes and the grown-up attitude, a walking contradiction.

She must have been about 14 or 15 years old when she was exposed to the crystals.

Clara would be her own age now.

And somehow it makes the situation even worse.

 

*

*

*

 

Jemma quickly realizes that time is nothing but a concept.

It doesn't exist where she is now. Not here.

At first it is strange and takes getting used to. Jemma is not tired or sleepy anymore. She is never hungry or thirsty. She doesn't need to pee. Every basic need that makes her human is gone.

Well, the peeing - thing is something she could live with, it has been annoying her her whole life. But Jemma aches for the satisfaction of waking up after a good night's sleep or the taste of jam on the tip of her tongue.

And it's not only that. There are no sensations anymore, no temperature, no smells, nothing.

She doesn't know how long she's been here, how much time has passed since her arrival. It could be hours, it could be years, it feels like an eternity. It is fleeting, gentle winds caressing skin, like falling leaves giving a premonition of winter.

Jemma closes her eyes, concentrating as hard as possible. She thinks of Fitz and Skye, of May and Coulson, of Bobbi and Hunter. Their faces appear at the back of her eyes, as clear as day. Oh, how she misses them. She opens her eyes again.

The haze clears, and instead of white there’s a suddenly a transparent wall in front of her, like wetting frosted glass, a window through the tightly woven fabric of space.

Jemma frowns, stepping closer to the window and sneaking a peek. She nearly stumbles back again at what she sees.

There are Fitz and Hunter, both of them with solemn expressions on their faces. Their gaze looks haunted, dark circles framing their eyes. Fitz holds a tablet computer in his hands and they watch something on the screen, but Jemma can't make out what it is.

It is only then that she notices Skye standing a little farther away, her arms crossed in front of her chest. She looks just as tired as the boys, fearful of the stone and what it could do to her.

But it is not what worries Jemma.

Fitz and Hunter, standing in front of the open case, fair game for the stone.

No.

They need to step away, or they'll be sucked in.

Hunter takes a step forward, his hands on the solid stone. Jemma screams, as if her high voice could raise an invisible shield around him --- but nothing happens. He touches it a little longer and yet there's no sign it could harm him in any way.

Jemma is near another heart attack, when the stone turns from its solid form to something that resembles quicksilver, spilling all over the ground before them - and their shoes.

But nothing changes. The liquid stone doesn't seem to have any intentions to swallow them. It just exists. Wet and silver, glistening in the shine of the halogen lamps above.

Why?, is a word too little to express all the confusion and rage Jemma feels in her too small body. Yet it's everything she has to describe the waves of fury rolling in her heart, the thunder booming through her blood vessels.

_Why me?_

Fitz opens his mouth, turning to look at Skye and she creates more distance to the stone. Jemma can't hear any words he's saying, only see what he's doing; the window a muted television.

She needs to turn up the volume. Or even better, the intercom system.

Trip had talked about creation when she'd arrived here, the flowers that had appeared out of nowhere. Jemma doesn't know how she'd managed to  _create_ them in the first place, but there has to be a way to repeat it. Scientific explanations are hard to find for phenomena in a place that shouldn't exist. But she'd accomplish this too.

Jemma concentrates on the spark of electricity she'd felt when she'd touched the rose petal, calling it up again. Energy wells up from underneath the soles off her feet, moving up her legs and abdomen until it reaches her heart. It passes on to her fingertips.

The sensation is overwhelming, pure intensity. Her heart skips several beats only to catch them up in the next few seconds. Jemma touches the glass and for one second she can hear Skye's soft voice.

It's a feverish dance, power and energy burning her from the inside out. It feels like she could collapse any second ---

In the blink of an eye Trip is at her side, gripping her by the shoulders and shaking her out of her trance. Ice flowers spread all over the transparent window, covering it in white, covering the pathway home.

"What did you do?" Trip asks concerned.  

"I called for help." She's completely out of breath, but at least the feeling of blacking out fades.

"You can't communicate with the other side."

"There has to be a way!" Jemma shouts, albeit almost defeated. Trip watches her as she regains her strength and starts pacing up and down. The movement keeps her mind active and running, working on a solution in every possible direction. A caged animal occupies the inside of her brain, hungry and waiting.

"I've watched them. They are searching for me. There has to be a way to go back."

"I told you once and I'll tell you again; you're a miracle worker. If anybody can find a way back home it's you." He stops talking, only taking up the thread as she looks at him again. "But it's not worth it, if you're harming yourself in the process." He gestures at her still pale skin.

"We're already dead. There's nothing left to lose."

"No, we're not not dead. And trust me, I want to go home as much as you do, Simmons."

The way he says it sounds so sincere, so broken - like the smile he gave her when she'd woken up on the ground. It occurs to her out of the sudden, a lightning strike in her synapses. Jemma wants to slap herself for being so careless.

"Trip." she says.

"Simmons."

"Skye told us that the mist reached her first. And when she shed her --- covering, you were already turned into stone."

"That's true." He is less responsive all of a sudden. He's closing in, she can see it in his posture. But Jemma keeps going, forcing the questions out of her mouth.

"You thought she had died, didn't you?"

"Yes." Trip takes a deep breath. "Yes, until Gonzales appeared here, I thought Skye had died in that cave."

She hasn't seen Gonzales yet, but it makes sense for him to be here. Jemma hopes she can avoid a meeting as long as possible. She'll never be a fan of him, not as long as she lives, no matter which world she's in.

"I'm sorry."

"No need to be."

"I'm sorry I was reckless.

"You're not going to stop, are you?" Trip asks.

Jemma wants to say yes, tell him she values her life more than finding an exit. But it would be a lie, and they both know. She's always been one for self-sacrifices. It's her nature. She can't change who she is.

So she whispers very quietly. "No."

Trip stays silent, disappointed maybe.

"Did you miss us?" She deflects instead.

"Everyday."

"We missed you too. Still do."

He smiles at her. "Good, I expect nothing less. I know you all know I'm a living legend."

Jemma cracks a smile too, before asking "How do you survive here?"

Trip tilts his head back, staring into a different direction of the nothingness. She follows his lead.

It's what bothers her the most, Jemma realizes once again. The complete lack of any substance, of any matter, of anything to explore. She is stranded in a world where there is nothing except herself and the clothes on her body.

"I look up and imagine a sky filled with stars."

"Does it work?"

"Not nearly as often as I wish it would."

 

*

*

*

 

It starts slowly.

Suddenly people start appearing, completely lost and confused, ripped out from their environment. Many of them are still wearing their pyjamas or bathrobes, some are barefoot or even naked.

It starts slowly, only one or two at a time.

But then there are more and more and more.

It's hard to keep track of time, when there are no indicators of its passing - neither night nor day, no clocks, nothing. But the arrival of the people brings some much needed rhythm into whatever hell they've been thrown into, even though she feels with them.

Whenever there is a new wave of people arriving, Jemma knows another day has passed. And it worries her.

Most of them don't remember what they were doing, they don't know where they are. Some don't even know their names anymore.

"It takes time to regain your full memory." Trip tells her as she watches the newcomers with wary eyes. "They'll be able to say more in time."

But it's not even the most pressing question. "Why are they here? Who is exposing them to the mist?"

Trip doesn't have an answer either.

Several of them have scraps of memory left. A young man, somewhere around 30, dressed in a casual business outfit is one of the few.

"What were you doing before you appeared here?"

"I was getting ready for work. I was searching for my USB drive, had a big presentation for an important client. I drank some coffee, took my vitamin pills and then I suddenly --- "He stops talking abruptly, tears rolling down his cheeks. " --- I'm here."

He is the first Jemma talks to, but not the last. And with time, after enough people find their way to them, a pattern emerges.

Vitamin pills. Something with Omega 3. That blue container with the smelly capsules. Fish oil pills.

Trip and Jemma finish questioning the latest bunch of people, just as clueless as before.

"Alright, fish oil pills. Let's say, just hypothetically of course, that there is a link between those pills and the crystals?"

  
*

*

*

 

Finding the solution takes her longer than she is willing to admit, it's almost embarrassing. Jemma blames it on the lack of proper equipment and the dire ambient conditions. She's also a little too distracted by the fact that she - can -  _create_ -new things. Not on purpose - yet -, but it's exciting nonetheless.

She'd have to change that somehow, the not-on-purpose part. But first she desperately needed to find Trip and fill him in.

"The crystals." She shouts, before she has even reached him.

"I know what causes the Terregenesis, Simmons."

Jemma swats Trip's upper arm. "Not what I want to tell you."

He holds up his hands in defense. "I'm all ears, Doc."

"The final battle happened on a ship. It's entirely possible that the crystals fell into the ocean, even likely. That's why the people die when they take their pills."

Trip considers her words. "Good. How do we stop it?"

"We need to warn them." Jemma answers. "Somehow."

 

*

*

*

 

They talk a lot. About everything that has happened since his death in San Juan. About ways to warn the team of the fish oil pills.

They talk a lot, not only with each others, but others too. Mostly Clara, to be honest. She is a wonderful young girl, with a great understanding of the dimension they are occupying. (Sometimes with Gonzales, but only because it is kind of inevitable.)

They also walk a lot. There is nothing to walk up to, no milestones to reach, but it's better than stay at one fixed point, like some others do.

In private, Jemma practices her newfound abilities to open the window home. It doesn't always work and if it works, it doesn't behave the way she wants it to.

The next time she gets a clear vision, she sees May.

Who should be on her well-deserved vacation, where she's definitely not. She does little other than stand in front of the stone. Waiting for a sign.

Jemma wants to talk to her, tell her she's alright. But not matter how much she raises her voice, May doesn't react in any way. She can't hear her. Jemma hits the window with full force and the motion passes on - into the stone.

And May notices. She uncrosses her arms, taking a better look at the stone. And Jemma dances happily - internally and externally.

There's a way to communicate now.

Morse code. She knows Morse Code. Bobbi had taught her - pun absolutely intended. And she knows that May knows too.

If she can't speak, she can send a Morse code.

Jemma starts slowly, hitting the glass in the patterns of a learning student. 

_H E R E  I S  J E M M A_

_I  A M  A L I V E_

May raises an eyebrow in surprise. She understands. "Wait a second, Simmons." Jemma wants to cry. May runs out of the room and comes back under a minute later with pen and paper in her hands. 

Jemma taps onto the glass, faster and more skilled, everything she knows about the fish oil pills. Telling her about the afterlife. Telling her about Trip. There's not patience behind it, not time. Everything comes up at once.

_I  W I L L  C O M E  B A C K_

That's how she intends to end her message. With the last letter she hits the glass too hard, breaking and shattering it. Shards lie astray on the white ground. Jemma tries to make another, keeping the connection but she's not able to. The only communication path and she destroyed it herself.

Defeat washes over her in waves, burying her under it. 

No.

She doesn't accept this. This is not how it ends.

The pieces of glass dig into the ground, breaking it.

A bath of light explodes from them, she's a butterfly in a cocoon of spectral waves. When Jemma opens her eyes again, she stands in a field of flowers, butterflies flying from one blossom to another. 

_Though I haven't seen anybody do this. Creation._

(This is how Jemma finds out what lies ahead of her.)

 

*

*

*

 

Jemma prepares herself. She doesn't want to be watched by anyone, except Trip. She is nowhere near ready to share this portion of information with anyone, except Trip. How could she if she doesn't even remotely know what it means? (That's a lie. She knows. She just can't say it out loud.)

Because if she fails, the only one who has to know about it, is her. She couldn't bear the knowledge.

But here she is, with Trip tense and curious, looking over her shoulder.

Because despite her insecurities, despite everything that could go wrong, Jemma is sure to know the right trick.

She now knows how to create matter in this dimension.

It just like in her own.

She has to give up part of herself.

Atoms align, separated from her body, flying from her skin into the air around her. Element by element they bind together, higher and higher, upwards and upwards. The flowers had been a guilty pleasure she'd summoned by accident. Yes, even the window facing homewards falls into this category. What she's doing now is in a whole new league.

"What are you doing?" Trip asks.

"I'm giving this world a new life." Jemma watches as the white space above her starts to darken, forming a sky, tiny stars gleaming far away. There is the first hint of an aurora, a turquoise cloud far behind on the horizon. Sweat is dripping down her neck as she tries to make it more prominent. "A good one I hope."

Trip watches admiringly as for the first time ever, the white dimension they're trapped in turns into something beautiful, into more than it is, into what it could be.

"How?"

"The first law of thermodynamics." Jemma proclaims proudly. The illusion feeds on her energy, but she has to keep going. She pours everything she has into it, bringing up more and more details.

The stars twinkle brighter, more and more appearing on the dark background. She takes the constellations of the earth as examples, Cassiopeia and Gemini, Leo and Orion, Ursus Major and Minor.

"You should probably stop doing that, Simmons." Trip says worried.

"It's alright, I can take it."

"I don't ---"

But she goes ahead anyway. Every breath becomes harder to take than the last, imaginary tiny roots growing from her feet, keeping her in place. The stars in the sky become harder to distinguish from the one's in front of her eyes.

"Stop." Trip interjects and this time she does. She stops the steady flow of energy. The sky stays, just like she hoped it would. It's beautiful. Jemma feels dizzy, but it's worth the outcome. 

"What did you do?"

"Exactly what I told you."

"Do you even _know_ what you're doing?"

Here's the thing:

Jemma knows. Simple as that.

Knows what she is doing.

Knows what this means for her.

Knows how binding herself and her energy to this world is going to end.

Jemma knows.

It's the myth older than humankind itself. An eye for an eye. She has to pay the price, the debt she owes.

Trip had talked about Asphodel Meadow's the day she arrived her. And maybe this is it. Maybe he was right.

The implied taste of pomegranate fills her mouth, the combination of sour and sickly sweet. She knows the story, about the girl of spring turned goddess of hell, queen in both worlds.

What if it's her story too? The girl of science, creator of a world beyond?

She doesn't know how to explain it to Trip, but it doesn't look like she has to. He stares at for seconds that feel longer than millennia, then down at his shoes, fighting for words, fighting for breath, fighting for her. " _Persephone_.", is all he spits out in the end.

Jemma nods.

"You know how the myth goes?"

"I do."

"Six months in either world, Jemma!" For the first time he uses her first name, so full of anger. "That's not worth it!"

"It is, if it means saving you! And Clara. All the innocents who are trapped in here just like we are. Then yes, it is worth it."

"That's not how it works, Simmons."

"And you know how it works? Because I don't see you doing what I do. If our only chance of finding a way home, is a blood guilt on my part or whatever you want to call it, I'm doing it."

Jemma can see it in Trip's face, the way he clenches his jaw, tension rising in his body - he wants to reply, say something anything, but he can't. She's winning this fight, even if she shouldn't want to.

"You were my responsibility. You died. It is my fault. It's my duty to bring you back." She yells, the final nail in a coffin buried the day she'd been swallowed by the stone.

"My death is nobody's fault. You can blame the crystals, maybe, if you need a culprit, but in the end it was fate."

"I don't believe in fate, Trip. I believe in my own actions. I believe in me." Her hands shake while she speaks. "You can't stop me from doing this. But it would make everything easier if you'd support me."

"What about Fitz? Skye? Bobbi and Hunter? May?" The names sting like ice, he could run knives into her body, it would hurt less. Jemma has thought about them, how could she not? But she can't return, if she doesn't create a portal. And she wants home, even if only for half of the time.

"They'll understand."

"You would chain yourself to this godforsaken place? For you, for me?"

"I will." Jemma answers in a heartbeat, no hesitation in her voice and neither in her mind. She's absolutely sure of what she's doing. It frightens her to no end, but she's dead certain.

"Then I'll support you." 

 

*

*

*

 

Sky's not the limit. At least not here, not anymore. The sky is her beginning.

It starts with the night animations, with stars and nebula. At first Jemma doesn't know how to change it, or how it could resemble earth's rotation as there is no physical explanation behind it here. Or so she thinks.

It's all just one big illusion.

After acknowledging the fact and with some practice she achieves her first sunrise. Jemma gives herself time. Rome was not built in a day either.

Clara has some excellent input too. Her knowledge about the Inhuman - Mythology is excellent and Jemma would have to talk to Skye once she'd returned home. And she is positively certain to return home. But therefore she has to create a portal. And she can only create the portal if there exists a world to support it. So this is what she does.

It starts with the night sky, because it not too hard to create, believe it or not. Jemma continues with different sorts of ground, grass and flowers and trees. Houses and furniture. The first big problem is the sun.

Jemma can't just imitate the sun, not without completely burning herself out. The laws of nature are more bendable, but not entirely. Instead she decides on everlasting lamps, thousands and thousands of them for the time being. 

A city starts to build around them. And while Trip is still unhappy about the evolution of her power, more specifically about the price she has to pay for it, he's more open to the possibilities they're having.

When everything is in its place, the safety net of matter behind, the last thing Jemma originates is the portal. It takes her the longest, since it's the most vital part to their plan. Though she still doesn't know how long it takes her, because time is another concept she hasn't figured out yet.

When she's done, she goes to search for Trip and Clara. 

 

*

*

*

 

"I have to take Trip first." It almost sounds like an apology, in reality it is, and it's entirely dedicated to Clara. Because she still doesn't really like Gonzales that much and he can surely survive in her newly built world. She still doesn't trust her powers enough, to take more than one person at once with her.

 _It's indeed a very pretty little world_ , Jemma thinks, smiling to herself.

The three of them stand together in front of the door that would serve as a portal to their reality, their dimensions - home. Clara had offered to guard the portal for as long as they were away. Though Jemma is rather sure that nobody except herself can open it.

Energy swirls from the tips of her fingers, just like the first time.

Clara smiles back. "It's alright. I can wait. Who knows, maybe I like it so much I'll stay?"

"Well, take your time to think about it."

Trip opens his arms and pulls the girl into a tight embrace. After he lets go, Jemma repeats the motion.

"You guys are crushing me. Even you, tiny scientist."

"Good one. The tiny scientist can't even crush a bug." Trip can't hold back his booming laughter.

"Watch it, Antoine. Or you're getting grounded for the next six months."

Trip retreats immediately and opens the door for her. Behind it is a colourful void, the colours changing like the flames of burning elements - intense white like magnesium metal, carmine as lithium, the intense yellow of sodium.

"See you." Clara wishes them good-bye.

Jemma and Trip step through the door into the portal, hopeful that it'll work. Hopeful to return home. Letting themselves be swallowed by the maelstrom.

 

*

*

*

 

* * *

 

_epilogue  
_

 

* * *

 

_i._

 

This is how they come back.

They arrive exactly six months after her sudden departure.

It's similar to her disappearance, just like the stone has swallowed her it's spitting her out now.

The only difference is Trip being there.

Mack's the one to find them.

And that's how they come back.

 

_ii._

 

"What is it you're hiding?"

Jemma jumps with a fright.

May.

"No - nothing. What're you talking about?" But even Jemma can hear the edge in her own voice, too high - pitched. She can't fool May, never could, never will.

"Simmons."

"I don't think I can stay."

This is how May finds out first.

 

_iii._

 

With time she fills in the others too.

The first reaction is disbelief.

The second reaction is anger.

The third reaction is negotiating.

The fourth reaction is acceptance.

 

_iv._

 

Every waking hour is spent in her lab, memorizing the feeling of beakers and reagents, so she can copy it in the other world.

The team is mostly with her, spending every waking hour with her.

(Fitz even spends the non - waking ones with her, after she confessed that she wouldn't take him with her.

"It's too dangerous. One day I will. I promise."

He accepts her reasoning, though he doesn't leave her side again.

It's alright in her eyes.)

 

_v._

 

She's getting more exhausted with every passing day, can feel the sand running out in her very own hourglass.

Soon.

But before soon can arrive, they fill their days with work and joy, so she doesn't even have a second to think about the sword of Damocles swinging over her head.

They antedate their birthdays.

Because Jemma won't be present for any of them. She will be gone in July for Skye's and in August for Fitz' and in September for her own.

So they make the most out of what they have.

There's a collective groan when Skye opens her present from Trip. It's a small well-designed perfume bottle, the bottle top adorned with flowers. Daisy by Marc Jacobs.

She chases him through the whole base, before wrapping her arms around his neck and kissing him senseless.

Skye gets Jemma a plastic tiara as a prank gift. The real one is a necklace with a pendant shaped like a gold crown.

"From Trip and me. A crown for a queen."

Jemma starts crying right on the spot.

 

_vi._

 

Jemma kisses Fitz goodbye, need consuming her very being, like she might never see him again. It's something she is very good at, by now. His lips are warm against hers.

"Uhm guys, don't want to interrupt or anything, but that's inappropriate. Just saying," Skye remarks from her spot in the doorframe, all snarky yet teary eyed.

Fitz lets go of her face and her hand, standing next to the box, watching, with all the faith he can muster.

"Be careful, Jemma."

"Same."

"Come back."

"I will."

They whole team gathers to say good-bye.

Jemma steps in front of the case holding the stone.

Opens the locks.

Touches the stone.

Feels the hard rock turn to fluid.

Lets herself be swallowed whole again.

Willingly, this time.

Six months she could do.

She'd see him again. She'd see them all again. She'd come back to them. Always.

 

* * *

 

 _ever drifting down the stream_  
_lingering in the golden gleam_  
_life, what is it but a dream?_

 

* * *

 

**Author's Note:**

> i really hope you liked it. please don't be shy and let me know what you think about it. i live for feedback. :))  
> you can also find me @ mightyjemma.tumblr.com. my ask is always open. :)


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